The Song of Flowers - Chapter 6: The Family’s Chamber (4)

Cabal could extract knowledge directly from a human’s mind. Perhaps that’s how he had learned it.

He felt like he could almost recall something. But his memory was incomplete. When he lost part of his power, some of his memories had vanished with it.

The door opened, and Malcolm entered. As soon as he stepped inside, he threw himself flat on the ground.

“Forgive me for not arriving immediately upon your summons, Master.”

—Rise.

The voice that echoed darkly was calm. Malcolm let out a sigh of relief and stood up.

—What news?

“We are searching with all our strength, Master.”

Malcolm swallowed nervously. He had been so preoccupied with the mana stones that he hadn’t had time to focus on finding the child. Of course, he had given orders to his subordinates. He hadn’t neglected the task completely, so he wasn’t exactly lying.

A fragment of Cabal’s dark power lingered within Malcolm’s heart. He could never betray Cabal, and if Cabal were to perish, so would he. However, Malcolm knew that Cabal couldn’t read his innermost thoughts. Through experience, he had learned to manage his anxiety and carefully navigate his words.

But Malcolm was unaware that his unease was already visible to Cabal.

“As I mentioned before, there was a complication with the mana stone’s use, so I’ve devised a plan to…”

—I don’t care how you use the mana stone.

“Pardon?”

—I simply provided you with a means to gather resources for your task.

“Yes, yes.”

Malcolm hunched his shoulders. As Cabal had said, Cabal had never involved himself in the flow of wealth. The only reason he had taken an interest in the human trafficking ring was that he needed the child. The scheming and plotting for personal gain were entirely due to Malcolm’s own initiative.

—I told you to make finding the child your top priority.

“Yes, Master. I am fully aware.”

Malcolm withdrew, and a harsh voice echoed in the dark room.

—Disgusting creature.

Humans were truly deceitful beings. Despite being as weak as insects, they always sought opportunities to indulge in their petty ambitions whenever a crack appeared.

Part of Malcolm’s life force was bound to Cabal. However, it wasn’t complete domination. If his soul were entirely enslaved, Malcolm would be nothing more than a breathing puppet. Without will, he wouldn’t be able to think for himself.

Turning a frail human into a puppet served no purpose. Cabal needed a faithful servant who could act according to his own desires and ambitions.

—He’s still useful, for now.

So Cabal let Malcolm’s minor disobediences slide.

But if the day came when Malcolm’s ambitions grew strong enough that he overstepped his bounds and acted on them, Cabal would discard him without hesitation.

Though Cabal couldn’t read Malcolm’s every thought, the dark power embedded in Malcolm’s heart was keenly attuned to his desires. It transmitted those desires to Cabal with precision, far more accurately than reading thoughts could. Even desires Malcolm himself wasn’t aware of were laid bare.

—It would be nice if things could just go smoothly.

Cabal clicked his tongue. Shaping a human into a useful servant required a great deal of effort. He could tolerate the nuisance, but it took too much time.

If only he could regain his full power!

There would be no need for such trivial schemes.

—Haran.

Everything lay there.

***

The high humidity and midday sun made their bodies feel heavy and sluggish. The thick, overgrown jungle and towering trees obstructed any breeze, stifling the air around them.

The jungle was so deep and remote that there were no proper paths. Four guides wielding machetes hacked through the undergrowth to clear a way, with the rest of the group following behind. There wasn’t much time to move before the sun set, limiting how far they could travel in a day.

When it was time to eat, the group took a brief rest. The small party divided into four groups: the native guides, the porters, the mercenaries hired as guards, and two magicians dressed in white robes.

“You’re really suffering by following me, aren’t you?” Deborah remarked.

The middle-aged magician in the white robe, Raman, shook his head.

“How could I let the Great Sage walk this treacherous path alone?”

“You’re as stubborn as ever.”

“Not as much as you, Great Sage. Why did you insist on coming all the way out here in person?”

“If you’re going to start lecturing me again, stop right there.”

“I’m just worried you’ll wear yourself out. I fear this trip might be a waste of time.”

“Nothing in this world comes for free.”

Deborah gazed at the guides eating a little ways off. They were laughing and chatting amongst themselves, but when they met her gaze, they flinched and quickly looked away. Despite having traveled together for some time, the guides still feared the magicians.

The guides were natives of the jungle. Even though they had ventured out and mingled with the outside world, one thing remained unchanged: a deep-seated fear of magic. The natives typically worshipped nature spirits, and to them, magic was akin to the power of the gods.

In some parts of the continent, there were still native tribes untouched by civilization. Officially, these lands weren’t considered unclaimed, but the nearby kingdoms had simply drawn borders on maps, dividing the land without consulting the natives who lived there.

It was perhaps fortunate that the jungle was so impenetrable, keeping armies at bay. With no easy access, no taxes could be collected, and the natives were left to live as they always had.

Still, compared to the past, much of the wilderness had been developed, and more natives were venturing outside. This gradual change had begun after Haran had expanded its influence on the continent.

“Every action has a reaction,” Deborah mused.

The magical items from Haran had improved people’s lives and, unintentionally, facilitated explorations into the jungle. As a magician from Haran, Deborah felt a tinge of guilt for disrupting the natives’ peaceful way of life.

Deborah had come all this way after hearing a story from a native who had ventured outside. If the natives’ lives hadn’t changed, they might never have left the jungle, and Deborah might never have heard the information.

—The altar of the Dark God…

As someone who roamed the continent searching for traces of dark magic, it wasn’t something Deborah could easily dismiss.

When she announced that she would investigate it herself, those around her tried to dissuade her, citing the dangers of traversing unknown paths.

But what could they do against her stubbornness? They eventually reached a compromise: she would bring a reliable escort. Normally, Deborah disliked dragging people around with her, but this time, she relented.

After their break, the group resumed their journey. When they stopped again for a rest, the leader of the mercenaries approached Deborah.

“They say we’re almost there. We should arrive by dusk.”

“Let’s push a little further, then set up camp in a suitable spot. It would be better to arrive early in the morning.”

“As you wish.”

The mercenaries treated Deborah with utmost respect. It wasn’t just because she was a magician—they were being paid handsomely. Among mercenaries, it was well-known that jobs for magicians came with generous pay for relatively light work.

Upon hearing that they were nearly there, Raman’s expression brightened.

“I mentioned my worry that this trip might be in vain, but I’d honestly prefer if that were the case.”

Deborah smiled.

“I agree.”

They were chasing after dark magic, but part of her hoped they’d never find it.

The next morning, they reached their destination. Deborah surveyed the surroundings with a curious expression.

“It seems it really is an altar.”

Though it couldn’t compare to the grand temples with intricately carved pillars, the basic structure had a distinctly religious feel.

Stones of varying sizes and shapes had been laid down to form the floor, with a large boulder stacked on top. Strange, carved wooden figures surrounded the area.

“It looks like it hasn’t been maintained for quite some time,” Raman observed.

Deborah nodded. The place was practically a ruin. Overgrown with weeds and vines, one could easily walk past it without realizing it was an altar.

“I can’t say for sure, but what do you think, Great Sage?”

“I’m not sure either.”

They were both magicians of the White Tower, most sensitive to dark magic, yet neither of them felt anything from the site.

It might have some academic value—perhaps as an example of an ancient religious site—but neither of them were experts in that field.

“It seems the god worshipped here was closer to an evil deity,” Deborah thought.

Though the carvings on the wood were too obscure to decipher, they gave off a menacing air, as if threatening anyone who stood at the altar.

Even without being a scholar, Deborah knew that primitive religions often emerged from fear. Many ancient people began worshiping nature gods out of a deep-seated fear of natural disasters.

—Why was the altar abandoned?

Before coming here, they had been told that no tribe lived nearby. For reasons unknown, the people who once maintained the altar had abandoned it and moved away. It had been so long that no one could remember the details of what had happened.

Deborah wandered around the altar for a while, but nothing stood out. It seemed like nothing more than the remnants of a forgotten religion.

—Am I just hoping for some sort of reward for coming all this way?

Something elusive tugged at Deborah’s thoughts, telling her not to leave just yet.

“Hey.”

“Yes, Great Sage?”

Raman hurried over at her call, though Deborah fell silent, lost in thought. Raman stood quietly, careful not to disturb her musings.

“Do you think dark magic is inherently evil?” she asked suddenly.

It was a sensitive question. Deborah wasn’t one to ask such things lightly. Knowing this, Raman answered without hesitation.

“If you break it down, it’s just another branch of magic.”

“Oh? Is that how you see it?”

Raman shrugged.

“Tools themselves aren’t good or evil. The problem lies in the person who wields them.”

Deborah smiled and nodded.

“Haran likely thought the same way.”

“Ah, that’s a dangerous thing to say, Great Sage.”

“I’m only saying it to you.”

The two exchanged knowing smiles.

“Haran even has a Black Tower, after all.”

In Haran, there were six mage towers in total. Only one remained without a master—the Black Tower.

“People think the Black Tower exists to counter dark magic, but I see it differently,” Deborah said. “Haran must have wanted to give that tower to someone. Didn’t they say Haran had six disciples?”

Excluding the Black Tower, the remaining five towers had been divided among Haran’s five disciples. However, there was no record of what happened to the sixth disciple.

Raman found this intriguing.

“That’s a new theory. Are you suggesting that one of Haran’s six disciples was a dark magician?”

“What do you think? Should we investigate?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it.”

It would cause an uproar in the magical community. Anyone pursuing such a theory would become a public enemy among magicians. Deborah had no intention of diving into such risky territory; it was just one of her many idle thoughts.

“We’re searching for traces of dark magic, aren’t we?”

“Yes.”

“But what if… it’s not dark magic we’re looking for? What if it’s something beyond—something more divine, like pure darkness?”

Raman looked puzzled, unable to grasp her meaning. Deborah chose not to elaborate further. After all, even she didn’t have enough conviction to explain it convincingly.

—It’s an ancient and illogical idea, after all.

Deborah strode toward a tree that had been bothering her for a while. It had grown through the floor of the altar, reaching about chest height. If she pulled it out, the altar would be easier to examine.

“Hey, you there, come over and—”

Just as she was about to call the mercenaries, Deborah stopped and examined the tree closely. It wasn’t actually a tree—it was a vine wrapped around a long wooden pole.

She grabbed the pole and yanked it from the ground, peeling away the vines tangled around it. Raman, who had been watching idly, suddenly widened his eyes.

“Great Sage, that’s—!”

The now-uncovered pole was blunt on one end and sharp on the other. The blunt side was carved into a comfortable grip.

“A magician’s staff…”

There was a time when staffs were the symbol of magicians, but that was long ago. It had been ages since anyone had used one. The staff Deborah held must have belonged to a magician from at least several decades ago.

Deborah narrowed her eyes as she examined it. Although old, the staff was in perfect condition, without a single crack.

She quickly surveyed the surroundings. Fortunately, it hadn’t rained during their journey, but the humidity was high. During the rainy season, it could rain for a month straight, and everything would rot quickly in the oppressive moisture.

—This belonged to a magician with considerable power.

Items owned by magicians for a long time naturally absorbed magical energy. The more powerful the magician, the more resistant their items became to decay. The mage towers even stored staffs that had been used centuries ago.

“Raman, what’s today’s date?”

After hearing Raman’s answer, Deborah sighed.

“Has that much time passed already? I’ve lost track of the days.”

The face of a young blonde girl flashed through her mind. It was her friend’s final request. Deborah had resolved to watch over Adele as much as she could. Though she couldn’t offer the girl the warmth of affection her friend had, she wanted to at least help her when needed.

It had been over three months since she’d left Adele in the care of her friend’s grandson. It was time to check in on her.

“We’ll need to return to the mage tower. I have to find out who this staff belonged to.”

“Ah, they say staffs bear the mark of their owner when they’re crafted.”

“I’ll head back first. You, set up the coordinates for this place.”

“Yes, Great Sage.”

Once the coordinates were set, they could teleport back instantly at any time. Deborah planned to return later to investigate the site more thoroughly.